


The One Who Hears

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cursed Derek, Cursed Derek Hale, Don't copy to another site, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escapes, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Kate Argent Is A Bad Person, M/M, Magic Stiles, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical stiles, Mutual Pining, Nice Peter, Pining, Protective Derek, Protective Derek Hale, Protector Derek, Protector Derek Hale, Reunion, Spark Stiles, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Supernatural world is known, magic is known, past implied rape, supernatural is known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “I know you need a voice, so do it, and I’ll be right here. I’ll be right here.”Even without seeing him, even just through the phone like this, hearing nothing more than Derek’s erratic breathing and frantic movements while he tried to find his keys, even now afterall this time, Stiles still knew him.Stiles stillheardhim.--Derek's POV of Chapter 16 ofActions Speak Louder than Words.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 40
Kudos: 390





	The One Who Hears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fae_vorite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fae_vorite/gifts).



> Because Fae is a bae and keeps SPOILING ME and mentioned off-hand that she would looooove~ to see Derek's POV of chapter 16 of [Actions Speak Louder than Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906259/chapters/52286296) and who am I to deny her what she wants? 
> 
> (You do need to have read that fic to understand what's happening, but you can also read this in general is you're looking for some hurt/comfort that only half-makes sense :D) 
> 
> FAE I LOVE YOUR FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE~ (Also the AMAZING [Fanart](https://faevorite-main-blog.tumblr.com/post/643347458164998144/from-the-best-scene-ever-in-the-most-beautiful) she drew is based off Chapter 16 of this fic, and also partly this one too since it's just another POV. Make sure to visit Fae's [Tumblr](https://faevorite-main-blog.tumblr.com/) and show her love!!)

He wondered what it must be like to be human. To actually be able to take out rage and agony in a violent way and actually feel the effects of it continuously for hours on end, maybe even days. To break every bone in one’s hand and focus more on that pain than on the events that caused the violent reaction to begin with. 

Honestly, he was running out of wall space for all the punching he’d been doing, but he just needed to feel something else. Just a few seconds of a different kind of pain than the one in his chest, eating a hole through his core, threatening to suffocate him every second of every day. 

The pain of his knuckles connecting with cement walls was short-lived, but at least it was a sharp pain that let him focus on something else for a few seconds. Just the smallest of reprieves for him before the grief and rage took hold entirely. 

Derek stared down at the bloodied knuckles of his right hand, flexing his fingers and watching the wounds heal. The pain was already gone, and by the time he’d made a fist again, it was like nothing had happened, the only evidence of his injuries the smears of blood left behind on his skin. 

The longer he stared at his fist, the tighter the pain squeezing at his heart in his chest. He stumbled once, shoulder hitting the wall he’d just punched a chunk out of and slid to the ground, burying his hands in his hair and tugging harshly. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to scream. He’d been trying to scream ever since it had happened, tried to expel the emotions trapped in his chest over this fucking _bullshit_ , but no matter what, no sound came out. 

He knew he could scream. He knew that was a sound he was actually allowed to make, but it wouldn’t come. It just stayed trapped in his chest, and he hated it. He figured it was because of what he wanted to scream. 

_How could you?!_

_What were you thinking?!_

_Why didn’t you run?!_

_Please don’t fucking **do** this to me!_

But he had. 

Hadn’t he? 

Because he was a fucking moron who cared more about others than himself. Sometimes, Derek felt like he would never be able to forgive him for this. For doing this to him. The one person he wanted to protect, the _one person_ he was legitimately willing to _die_ for, that he was _ready_ to die for, and he did _this_. 

Derek’s head jerked back harshly, slamming hard into the wall and he clenched his hands into fists again. His eyes strayed to the train car shoved up against the far wall and anger surged all over again. 

How could he _do_ this to him? Derek would rather be dead than suffering through this torture day after day. 

Stiles was _gone_! Derek hadn’t been able to protect him, hadn’t been able to keep the _one person_ he cared about more than anything fucking _safe_. He had no idea where he was, what was being done to him, how he was being treated... 

And worse, he was with _her_. 

Derek felt like he was going to be sick. It wouldn’t be the first time. Whenever he was reminded of who Stiles was with, he wanted to throw up. He didn’t want Stiles to change, to be different. When they got him out—and they _would_ , Derek would fucking tear the world apart to achieve that!—he didn’t want him to be different. 

He didn’t want Stiles to suffer the same way he had. 

But it had been _so long_. It had been months. Five months. One-hundred and sixty-five days. Every day was harder than the last. 

Why hadn’t he been better?! It was a thought that invaded his mind multiple times a day. How could he have allowed this to happen so _easily_?

If he hadn’t frozen, if he’d motioned for Jackson to put on his seatbelt, if he’d noticed the weird feeling with the car, if he’d _thought_ about why someone would’ve taken Lydia beyond the safety of Stiles’ perimeter spell. 

He was so stupid. He was stupid, and useless, and weak, and Stiles was _gone_ and he felt like he was dying inside more and more with every passing second. 

His phone vibrated from somewhere upstairs and he lifted his head, staring across the dark expanse of the bottom floor of his home. Stiles always needed help after dark. He couldn’t see anything.

Derek had never gotten the lights fixed because Stiles would stick close to him. 

The call upstairs stopped, but when it started up again, he knew it was Peter, and he’d call, and call, and call until Derek answered. And if he didn’t, Peter would just come over. 

That was the only thing that got him up off the floor. Times like this, he _really_ wished he was human. At least humans could get drunk. Sure, he could have aconite, but too much of it could be fatal, and he wasn’t willing to risk that. He still had to find Stiles, and he wasn’t willing to impede his ability to locate him because he was wallowing in self-pity. 

Besides, the walls were doing all right, for the most part. They did their job. The pain was sharp enough for a few seconds after a hit. 

The phone was on call number four by the time he figured out where it was. Not like he worried about who might be calling him, since the one person he wanted to hear from probably didn’t have phone access. 

Honestly, he’d let the damn thing die if not for Peter showing up when he didn’t show signs of life. He hadn’t even _wanted_ a phone back, because having one just reminded him of the person he would give _anything_ to hear speak down the line. 

Grabbing the phone, annoyed at the name flashing back at him, he answered and just snarled down the line. 

_“You know I have better things to do with my time than ensure you’re still alive, yes?”_ Peter’s condescending voice said in his ear. 

Derek just snarled again. It hurt more than he wanted to think about when he realized Stiles would’ve understood that snarl exactly for what it meant. A clear, “I never asked you to make sure I was still alive, you _should_ be doing more important things!” 

But Peter wasn’t Stiles. _Nobody_ was Stiles. No one could read him, understand him, _hear_ him like Stiles could. 

So Peter’s reply didn’t match what Derek had said with the one sound. 

_“Yes, yes, you’re a big boy and can take care of yourself.”_

Fuck. Derek missed Stiles. He missed being heard. 

No, fuck that, he didn’t care about being heard. He didn’t care if Stiles never understood him ever again. He just wanted him _back_. 

God, please, he’d do anything. He would do _anything_ to have him back. 

Please, please, just give him _back_! 

_“Satomi is coming over tomorrow,”_ Peter said. _“She contacted an old friend who might have some ideas on what our next steps should be.”_

He meant, “He might have an idea of how we can locate Stiles,” but no one said his name anymore. Not around Derek, anyway. He couldn’t handle hearing his name, because it was just a reminder of how badly he’d fucked up. He’d fucking _lost_ him, and he still didn’t know how to handle that. It hurt even _thinking_ his name, but it was all he ever really thought about. 

Stiles, Stiles, _Stiles_. 

_“Breakfast is at nine. You should be here, in case we discuss anything you need to be aware of.”_

Derek didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to listen to _another_ failed attempt to locate Stiles. No matter what they did, they couldn’t find him. It was like Gerard had thrown a blanket over Stiles and completely concealed him from anyone and everyone.

When Satomi had first arrived, she’d been trying to locate Stiles by his magic. He was the Spark, his magic had a unique signature, and it was so strong that it should be easy to locate even if they’d taken him to fucking _Africa_. 

But she’d found nothing. Derek had rubbed at his wrists to try and explain the cuffs that had been put on him, but it had taken him actually spelling the damn words out using the dictionary for them to understand. 

Satomi said it was probably more than that. There were layers keeping him hidden from her, so it couldn’t just be the cuffs. It was likely the area he was being held. And Derek knew that, Kate aside, Gerard also had that Druid. Or the Darach, whatever she was called. 

He’d gone through a lot of trouble to make sure no one would ever find Stiles. So he didn’t know why anyone thought tomorrow’s plan would be any different. 

If they hadn’t managed to get that camouflage freak to talk, there was really no hope for them. In his defence, he seemed sincere when he insisted he didn’t know where the Argent estate was. At least, after what Derek had put him through, he found it difficult to believe the guy would’ve lied. 

Not his finest moment, but better him than Peter. He could imagine his uncle would’ve had far more colourful and inventive ways of making him talk. 

_“Derek? Tomorrow?”_

He just exhaled sharply into the phone. Whatever. He’d show up expecting disappointment, and then leave somewhat satisfied at the knowledge that he was right. 

Just once though, he’d love to be wrong. He’d love to have a-a lead, or a clue, or just _something_. Anything. He’d take a country, honestly. They didn’t even know if Stiles was still in the US, he could’ve been in fucking Russia for all they knew. 

He wanted one thing. Just one thing. He needed something before he broke to such a degree that nothing would ever fix him again. 

_“See you tomorrow. Try and get some sleep.”_

Derek hung up. That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard leave his uncle’s mouth. As if he’d managed to get _any_ sleep since this entire thing had happened. As if he could honestly close his eyes without seeing Kate doing to Stiles what she’d done to him. 

His chest hurt. His chest hurt so much. 

Not Stiles. Please, God, _not Stiles_. She could do whatever she wanted to Derek. Hurt him, cage him, torture him, _rape_ him.

But God please. Please just let her leave Stiles alone. If he could trade places with him, he would have. In a heartbeat. Derek would have endured it all over again for the rest of his life if only it meant Stiles would be safe. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at his phone. The screen had long ago gone dark after the call, but his mind was in a million places, each one connected to Stiles in some way. 

His chest really hurt. 

Dropping the phone on the dining room table, the one surface barring Stiles’ desk that was still in one piece—for now—Derek turned and headed for the bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes and turned on the water, cranking it as far to the left as he could until it was scalding. 

When he climbed under the spray, the fire hitting his skin _burned_ , but he tolerated the pain. He had to feel something other than this gnawing agony over losing Stiles, so this would have to do for now. 

He could practically hear Stiles joking about him being an exhibitionist. Stiles hadn’t joked about that in a long time, too used to Derek showering with the door open by now, but he still liked to pretend that he was there, razzing him, being generally annoying. 

Derek almost punched a hole through the wall, the tile cracking loudly and falling at his feet. Bracing himself against the surface he’d just punched, he bowed his head, clenched his eyes shut, and grit his teeth. 

_Fuck you!_ he wanted to scream. _Fuck you, Stiles! How could you do this to me?!_

He pounded one fist repeatedly against the wall angrily, wishing he could scream these things. Just get them out, have them be somewhere other than stuck in his head and chest. 

He hated Stiles for doing this to him. He missed him so much that every breath was like glass in his lungs. 

He loved him. 

Fuck it all, he loved Stiles so fucking much, and he was _gone_. Because everything Derek touched shattered into nothingness. He wasn’t allowed to have anything, was that it? His sole purpose on this earth was to forever be miserable? 

Well, if that was God’s plan, he was sure fucking succeeding. 

Derek stayed braced against the wall until the water started to grow cold. Eventually, it became uncomfortable enough that he straightened and turned it off. He hadn’t actually gotten around to washing his hair or soaping himself down, but it wasn’t like it really mattered anyway. 

Who the fuck did he need to impress? Fucking nobody. 

Climbing out of the shower, he towelled himself dry and walked out into the main room, dropping the towel on the floor and not caring about the mess. He started to head upstairs before pausing, glancing over at his phone. 

Peter would show up tomorrow if he didn’t get up in time, and he did _not_ have the patience for his uncle in his space. It was bad enough the loft didn’t smell like Stiles anymore, he didn’t want the stench of his uncle further erasing what little of it he managed to find in the corners. 

Grabbing his phone off the table, he took a few steps, crouched, then leapt up onto the second floor, grabbing at the railing and hoisting himself over it. He probably shouldn’t have fucked up the stairs, but that had been a particularly bad day. 

Whatever, he had ways of reaching the second floor. Not like he had to worry about Stiles being inconvenienced. 

Not like he was _here_. 

Derek tossed his phone rather violently onto the bed, the only thing saving it being the fact that he’d hurled it somewhere soft as opposed to the nightstand. 

Grabbing a random pair of sweats from the floor, he yanked them on and raked a hand through his wet hair. Then he turned to look at the drawer that held all of Stiles’ clothes. 

Well, that _had_ held his clothes. Derek had slowly but surely been pulling them all out one by one. The scent of detergent was overpowering, but sometimes, really deep in the fabric, he could just barely make out Stiles’ scent. It hurt as much as it comforted him when he could catch brief hints of him. Stiles was out there, Derek _knew_ he was out there. He was going to find him, no matter what. 

Sighing, Derek reached out and pulled open the drawer. 

There were only four items left. Three shirts, one pair of shorts. 

Grabbing one of the shirts, and knowing it wouldn’t last very long, he shut the drawer gently, fingers brushing lightly against the wood, then turned to the bed. Still gripping the shirt in one hand, he plugged his phone in and set an alarm, then crawled under the covers, resting his head on Stiles’ pillow. 

It had long ago started smelling like Derek, and he hated it. 

Rolling onto his side, Derek brought the shirt to his nose and closed his eyes, trying to trick his brain into believing Stiles was there. This wasn’t one of Stiles’ favourite shirts. Derek could tell because there was barely any of him coming through the detergent. He should’ve saved the favourites for last. He shouldn’t have gone for those ones first, because soon he’d run out, and he’d have nothing. 

He’d have nothing left of him. It would be like he was never there. 

Derek grit his teeth, burrowing himself further into the bed, clutching the shirt tightly and keeping it pressed against his face. The scent was there, he knew it was. He’d find it, eventually. It would only last one night, but he knew he could find it. 

He lay there for what felt like hours, occasionally catching small whiffs of Stiles on every thirtieth or so inhale. It was better than nothing. At least it was keeping him calm. That didn’t happen often anymore. 

When he thought he might _actually_ manage to fall asleep for once, his eyes snapped open and rage surged through his chest again when his phone vibrated loudly on his nightstand. 

Seriously? He’d been _so close_ to passing out, and Peter fucking needed him _right this second_?! 

He thought about ignoring it, because fuck Peter, but then he considered what time it was. 

Peter’s earlier call had been around eleven. He’d showered and come up to bed since then, having spent time standing in the living room _and_ the shower so that it had to be well past one by now. 

Much as he hated his uncle right now, he couldn’t ignore a call this late into the night, because he was still the Alpha, and Stiles being taken from him just meant he had to work on keeping the rest of his pack safe. 

Regardless of how inadequate he was at doing it. 

Rolling over with an annoyed sigh, he yanked his phone closer, ripping it free of the charger, and started to swipe so he could answer when he paused. 

It wasn’t Peter. 

It wasn’t even a California area code. 

Frowning, Derek hesitated, thumb hovering over the swipe to answer. He couldn’t speak, so it made it difficult for him to feel inclined to answer an unknown number. It was probably spam, anyway. Nothing important. 

Still... 

He ignored the little voice in his mind saying, “What if?” No sense in getting his hopes up.

But he still didn’t put the phone down. 

Really, he wasn’t expecting anything, what harm would answering a call do? None, because nothing could hurt him more than what he’d lost. 

Besides, if it was a spam call or even better, a _scammer_ , at least he could roar into the phone and maybe feel better. 

Dragging his thumb across the screen, he watched the line connect, then brought the phone to his ear. At first, he heard nothing. Not even breathing. He frowned, wondering if it was a bad connection, and when he started to pull the phone away to hang up, he heard it. 

_“Derek.”_

His heart relocated itself in his throat and it felt like someone had just shot twenty-thousand volts of electricity through his body. He practically catapulted himself out of bed, slamming into the dresser and feeling like every inch of skin was on _fire_. 

_Stiles! **Stiles**! Oh my God, Stiles!_ He so badly wanted the words to come out, he wanted to _scream_ them, wanted to just force them right past this stupid curse and explode out of his fucking chest. 

But they didn’t come. Nothing came. All he could do was clench the phone in his hand, heart pounding so hard it actually hurt, breathing ragged because oh my God, oh my _God_! It was Stiles! It was him, it was his voice! 

_Stiles! Where are you?! Please, where **are** you?! Are you okay?! Stiles! _

_Fuck_! He wanted to shake words out of him! He wanted to shake words out of himself! Fuck! He couldn’t— _Fuck_! 

_“I’m right here,”_ Stiles said shakily, voice small and throat tight. 

_Here **where** , Stiles?! Where are you?! Please, **please**! Tell me, where are you?!_

He couldn’t ask. He couldn’t _ask_! He needed to be able to ask, dammit! He fucking needed—

He needed a voice. 

_“I’m right here, big guy. I’m okay, I’m right here.”_

Derek leapt over the railing, phone held tightly against his ear, and raced for the loft door. He hadn’t even bothered closing it, and he was _so thankful_ in this moment, because it would’ve slowed him down and he had to get a voice. He needed a voice! 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he knew that he could, because air was rushing in and out of his lungs rapid fire. It felt like he was suffocating and breathing for the first time in five months all at once. 

He made it halfway downstairs before realizing he didn’t have his _fucking_ keys! He needed his God damn keys to drive his _fucking_ car to get to a voice! 

Why the _fuck_ wasn’t he at the house tonight?! Why hadn’t Peter forced him to stay over _tonight of all nights_?! Fuck! 

Turning, he raced back up the stairs, Stiles’ voice still in his ear, and fuck! _Fuck_! It was him.

It _was_ him, right?! Derek needed it to be him. If it wasn’t him, if this was all a dream, he was going to lose his God damn _mind_! 

_“I’m not going anywhere,”_ Stiles promised, his voice still shaky. God, he was there, he was _right there_! Derek wanted to reach through the phone and yank him out on this end. Jesus, fuck! 

How?! 

_How?!_

It didn’t matter, but it did, because was he safe? Had he escaped? How far was he from the Argents? _Was he safe?!_

_“I know you need to get somewhere,”_ Stiles said, voice tight, and Derek knew he was crying. He could hear it in his voice. Stiles was crying and Derek wanted to fucking cry too, but he needed his _keys_! 

_“I know you need a voice, so do it, and I’ll be right here. I’ll be right here.”_

Even without seeing him, even just through the phone like this, hearing nothing more than Derek’s erratic breathing and frantic movements while he tried to find his keys, even now after _all this time_ , Stiles still knew him. 

Stiles still _heard_ him. 

_Keys_! Derek finally found the fucking _keys_! 

Snatching them up, he almost fell over in his haste to turn around, stumbling slightly down the stairs to get to the door, get to the door, _get to the door_! 

He hit it hard, fumbling with the one lock he bothered to turn when he actually came home and then exploded out of the building. 

His chest constricted when he realized Stiles had gone quiet on the other end. Was he—was he still _there_?! 

_Stiles!_

Pulling the phone away from his ear, hands shaking, Derek managed to pull up the number pad and began hitting random buttons urgently. 

_Come on, Stiles! Talk to me! Stiles!_

_“I’m here,”_ Stiles promised. 

God, he sounded so _small_! Derek fucking _hated it_! 

Fuck, what had they _done_ to him?! 

_“I’m still here. I’m sorry, I just... Fuck, it just feels so good knowing you’re there. Fuck.”_

Stiles had no _idea_ how mutual that fucking feeling was! 

Derek had already reached the car by then, wrenching the door open and shoving the key in the ignition before he’d even fully entered the vehicle. He heard Stiles clearing his throat on the other end, sniffing loudly, like he was trying to compose himself. 

He’d just been held prisoner by the Argents for five months, he didn’t _have_ to compose himself! Not with Derek! Not _ever_! If he wanted to sob like a fucking baby, Derek would just be thankful he got to hear it, because Stiles was _on the phone_! Fuck! 

Not trusting Stiles to keep talking, and wanting the opportunity to beep at him, Derek put the phone on speaker in his lap, shutting the door in the same instant he floored it. The wheels spun loudly against the asphalt and Derek twisted the car around, racing for the road and towards his old childhood home. 

He needed a voice. He needed a voice now. Now, now, _now_! 

_“I don’t have a lot of time,”_ Stiles said, Derek hearing him grunt, like he was moving around. 

_No. No, no, don’t say that! You’re out! You’re safe! Please be safe, you can’t—please! You got out, I need you to stay safe so I can come get you!_

_“I don’t know where I am,”_ Stiles continued, rummaging through— _something_ on the other end. Derek didn’t know, it sounded like he was shuffling papers or something. Maybe trying to figure out where he was? Fuck, Derek hoped he was close. If he was close, fuck Peter, he’d turn around right now and drive like hell to meet him. 

_“I just—I found something,”_ Stiles said. He sounded almost out of breath now, like he was beginning to panic a little bit. Derek didn’t want him to panic! They were coming for him, he was gonna be fine! _“I think I’m in Kentucky. Or this guy goes real far for his dry cleaning. It says Murray, Kentucky, so I’m guessing that’s where I am right now.”_

Kentucky?! _Fuck_! That was—that was _far_! Fuck, it would take him _days_ to get there! God dammit! 

Derek slammed one fist angrily against the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. Dammit. He wanted to be there right _now_! 

He turned sharply at the entrance leading up to his home, Stiles still speaking quickly on the other end, making Derek’s anxiety ratchet up. 

_“I’m still really close to the Argent estate,”_ he said, which had Derek cursing colourfully in his head. Fuck! _“I’m on foot, and it’s snowing, and I’m really not dressed for the weather.”_

Of course he wasn’t! He’d fucking _escaped_ , it wasn’t like he’d stopped to pick out a comfortable outfit suitable for the weather! Fucking Christ, _fuck_! And Stiles didn’t do well with the cold when he was suffering from magic deficiency. Derek knew that first-hand, considering what had happened with Satomi in Wyoming. 

And he had absolutely _no_ illusions that Stiles wasn’t suffering massive magic deficiency right now. 

_“I don’t know how much further I can get on my own, but I’m gonna keep running as long as I can.”_

Derek tensed, the car swerving violently when he heard a loud bang, eyes shooting to his phone, horrified. But then he heard a scratching sound and change rattling and realized Stiles had just popped open a till of some kind. He had to be in a store or something. 

Glancing back up, Derek drove up as far as he dared without hitting the porch, then slammed on the brakes. Throwing open the door and keeping a tight grip on the phone, he hurtled up the steps and slammed hard into the front door. It groaned loudly at the abuse, but he just started banging loudly on it, because breaking the door would have Peter whining instead of _listening_ to him, and he so, so badly needed Peter to fucking _listen_! 

Derek heard movement within, Jackson’s angry cursing, Cora’s confused mutterings, and Peter’s angry stomping as he rushed down the corridor to the stairs. 

“All right, all _right_!” Peter was shouting, but Derek didn’t let up on the pounding. “Jesus!” Peter was heading for the door now, and he looked _pissed_. Unlocking it, he wrenched it open, giving him an annoyed look. “Derek. It is two in the fucking—”

_“Peter.”_

“Stiles!” 

Derek backpedalled and yanked his arm back behind himself, snarling threateningly at Peter when the man went for his phone. He’d kept the wolf back this entire time, the whole way over, but when Peter tried to separate him from the _one person_ that meant the world to him, that was too much. 

His fangs dropped, his eyes burned red, and he made sure to put enough Alpha in his snarl to have him back off. 

It only _partially_ worked. Peter didn’t go for the phone again, but he got right up into Derek’s personal space so he could speak towards the phone. Derek moved his hand a _bit_ closer, allowing it, but only because Peter could ask the questions burning their way up his own throat, unable to escape. 

He heard a thud from upstairs, both Cora and Jackson immediately out of bed and racing down the stairs. 

“Stiles, where are you?” Peter demanded, grabbing Derek’s shoulder, as if to get the phone closer, even though he kept it a bit behind himself to be sure Peter wouldn’t try and yank it out of his hand. “Are you okay? What happened? Where _are_ you?!” 

“Stiles?” Cora demanded, having reached the bottom of the stairs and hurrying for the door. Her hair was a wild mess atop her head, but her eyes were wide and alert and she looked ready to wolf out, eyes flickering between gold and their usual soft brown. “Did someone say Stiles?!” 

Derek took another step back, because they were too close, and if someone tried to take the phone from him again, they were going to lose a few limbs. 

“What?!” Jackson demanded, having been a few steps behind her, as if wanting to confirm he hadn’t misheard. “Where is he?! Where is he?!” He slammed into Peter so hard the man stumbled slightly, but kept his footing. Derek noticed he’d shifted to keep Jackson away from him, as if knowing he’d go for the phone and that Derek would rip his head off. 

Literally. 

“I’ll go get him!”

Derek snarled at Jackson, flashing his eyes again angrily. If anyone was going to get Stiles, it was _him_! 

Peter gave him a warning look, motioning for him to stop, because they had more important things to worry about. Which they did, because Stiles was speaking again. His words were almost stumbling over each other, the teen speaking a mile a minute while he was clearly walking around the store, likely checking the windows, trying to make sure he was okay. 

Derek’s chest _ached_. God, he was so close, but so far! 

_“I’m really short on time,”_ Stiles repeated, going over everything he’d already told Derek, except to people who could _reply_ and ask questions this time. Derek _hated_ that he couldn’t ask questions because he _knew_ Peter wouldn’t ask the right ones! _“I just escaped the Argent estate, I’m in some place called Murray in Kentucky. It’s snowing a lot, I’m on foot, and not dressed for the weather. I broke into a store and found less than a hundred bucks. I really need some good news right now, please tell me I have somewhere safe to go.”_

“Cora, call Deaton,” Peter said immediately. “We need to find someone in Kentucky, _anyone_. Jackson, call Parrish. One of you text Boyd while you’re on the phone.” 

Derek watched Peter take charge, ordering the others into action, but giving nothing for Derek to do. It made sense, because he was—useless. In this, he could do nothing. He couldn’t text, he couldn’t call, he couldn’t do anything. 

All he could do was stand there, gripping the phone tightly, having shifted it around in front of himself now that he knew Peter wouldn’t dare try and take it from him. He’d probably had a moment when he’d tried to grab it, forgetting who _exactly_ was holding the phone. 

It was still on speaker-phone, and Peter turned back to him, shifting to grip Derek’s shoulder again, claws digging into the meat of his bare shoulder, as if to reassure him this was real and keep him grounded. He shifted a bit closer, closed his eyes and let out a small breath. Derek could see how relieved he was. How scared he was. Peter was letting more emotion out than usual, but it was short-lived. 

After a moment, he steeled himself, locked everything away, and focussed on the task at hand. 

“Stiles, listen to me. We’re going to find you somewhere safe to go. Just stay calm. Are you hurt? Are you injured?” 

Stiles let out a harsh exhale and Derek tensed, hand tightening around the phone. Peter’s claws dug a bit deeper, but it didn’t do much to calm Derek down, breathing still coming harshly and heart pounding in his chest. 

_“Yeah,”_ he admitted quietly. _“I mean, sort of. I’m—it’s nothing. I can run. It’s not serious.”_

Derek grit his teeth and he saw Peter’s expression harden. 

“Are you armed?”

_“Yeah, I stole a crossbow. I can’t really account for my aim, but I’ll be okay.”_

“Where are you right now? Are you somewhere safe? Can you stay there until someone comes for you?”

_“No, I can’t. I’m—”_ Stiles cut off, his breathing ratcheting up again, and Derek felt his chest _aching_. God, he wanted to hug him so bad right now. Wanted to tell him everything was okay, he was out, they would get to him before the Argents did. 

He was going to be _okay_! 

_“I broke into a store. I took whatever was in the till, but I’m ahead in the time zone right now, so someone’s gonna show up. The people are gonna start waking up, I can’t stay here long enough. I need to get moving again sooner rather than later.”_

“Is there a car?” Peter asked. “Anything around you that you could steal?” 

Stiles could definitely hot-wire a car! He’d done it before, after all. He could find a car, hot-wire it, and be _out_ of there in no time. 

_“No,”_ Stiles said, sniffing slightly. His voice had gotten a bit stronger the longer he spoke, but Derek could hear in the way his voice trembled that he was cold. 

Cold and scared. 

_“There isn’t—I’m in some like, outlet? I don’t know, there’s a bunch of stores around, but they’re all closed and the street is deserted.”_

Peter cursed, and when that had Stiles’ breathing crank up again, he paused. He and Derek shared a look, because every reaction on their side was adding to Stiles’ anxiety. Derek had to get his breathing under control, but it was hard. 

At least Peter managed to calm his tone somewhat, and went back to asking questions in a low, soothing voice. He didn’t ask any of the ones Derek wanted to ask, though. 

Derek wished he could speak. He so badly wished he could just _say_ something. It didn’t have to be anything important. Just _something_ to help keep Stiles calm. To keep him focussed. To stop him from panicking. 

“How long has it been? Since you escaped? How far are you?” 

_“I don’t know.”_ Stiles was clearly rubbing his head now. _“I ran for like, a good hour, at least. I’m—I don’t know. But I don’t—I can’t stay here. They’re gonna be looking for me, I need to get somewhere safe. I don’t—I can’t go back there.”_

The way his voice cracked on the last sentence broke something in Derek and he grabbed at Peter’s arm, staring at him intently, trying to make him read his mind, to _please_ just _fix_ this for Stiles! 

Peter was still digging claws into his shoulder, keeping eye contact. 

“You’re not going back, Stiles. We won’t let them have you. Not again. Derek will never let that happen.” 

Stiles exhaled shakily, then said, _“Okay. Yeah. Okay.”_

Peter opened his mouth to ask another question when they both jerked their heads in Cora’s direction at her shout. 

“Found one!” She was hurrying back towards them, having moved a bit further into the house to have the conversation with Deaton. Jackson looked like he’d hung up on whoever _he_ was speaking to, moving to join her quickly. She came around Peter so she was between her brother and uncle, grabbing Derek’s wrist holding the phone and bringing it closer to her mouth. “Stiles! There’s an Order member in Nashville, Tennessee. Deaton just touched base with them. They can come and get you, it’ll be about two hours. Less if they speed.” 

Two hours was a long time. Too long. Stiles couldn’t stay where he was for two hours. 

And he said so. 

_“I can’t stay here that long.”_ Oh no, he sounded like he was starting to panic again, his breathing coming quickly, his voice a bit higher than it had been a second ago. _“I’m hunkered down in a hardware store, and it’s not like I got in here legally.”_

Jackson was standing behind Cora, doing something on his phone and muttering to himself. Derek frowned at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, but he was only half-paying attention because Stiles’ panic was kind of catching. 

_“I can’t stick around, and the longer I’m here, the higher the chances of me getting caught.”_ He said this last part very softly, as if even daring to _speak_ the words would have them come true. _“I need to get out of town.”_

“There’s a Walmart,” Jackson blurted out. 

Derek was glad he wasn’t the only one to give him a weird look. Peter raised his eyebrows and Cora stared at him like he’d lost his mind. 

Jackson ignored them and just leaned heavily against Cora so he could get closer to the phone. Derek shifted his hand up to give him easier access. 

“Stiles, you said Murray, Kentucky, right?” Jackson was staring down at his phone, and Derek could see a Walmart logo on the screen. “There’s a huge, twenty-four hour Walmart there. 809 North twelfth street. Can you make it there?” 

_“I don’t know where that is from here, but I can try.”_

“What’s the address of where you are?” Jackson asked. 

They heard shuffling, like he was trying to figure that out, and when he located it, he read it out. Jackson plugged it into his phone quickly, then he started listing off the directions. He went slowly enough to ensure Stiles got each step, but fast enough that he could get it out quickly. 

Derek wasn’t happy about it, because while it didn’t sound like it was too far, Stiles was on foot, and he probably didn’t even have a jacket. If he was in Kentucky, there was probably a _lot_ of snow right now, given the time of year. He was going to have to get to the store in the dark, trudging through snow, wearing probably not very much in way of clothing to keep warm, and _hope_ the Argents didn’t find him. 

It was making Derek’s anxiety sky-rocket, but Peter just kept digging his claws into his shoulder to keep him grounded while Jackson continued listing off the directions and Cora told him there was a McDonalds inside the store, so Stiles could grab some food and maybe a hot chocolate or something to get warmed up. 

_“Okay,”_ Stiles said. _“Okay, yeah, I can do that.”_

“Deaton, send them to the Walmart,” Cora said, moving away from them, forcing Jackson off her. Derek hadn’t realized she was still on the phone, but to be fair, he hadn’t exactly been paying attention. He just heard her repeating the address to Deaton, and hoped whoever was on the other side of the country would get to Stiles within like, ten seconds. 

Unrealistic, but Derek needed him home _now_. Like, right now. Wrapped in a blanket and drinking hot chocolate and just... happy. Happy, and warm, and safe and...

With him. 

Derek wanted him back with him. Forever. 

“Cora,” Peter said, making his sister turn. He motioned for her to come back and she obliged, moving quickly. He took the phone from her. “Deaton, we need an indicator. Something for Stiles to look out for.” 

_“I haven’t had a chance to connect with the Order member, the Georgia chapter is getting me their details. They just confirmed there is someone in Nashville, I’m waiting on the rest.”_

“We’ll improvise. Bright hoodie, something that catches the eye. And a hat.” Peter made a face, like he was trying to think. “What’s popular out there, hockey? Boston Bruins or something, get them to bring a Bruins hat.”

Derek shook his phone urgently in Peter’s face, who shifted his gaze to him, handing the phone back to Cora. 

“Stiles, did you hear me?” 

_“Bright hoodie, Boston Bruins hat,”_ he repeated. He still sounded out of breath and scared, but calmer. Like having a plan was helping him keep his head. 

Derek was glad. God, he was so, so close. He so wished he could teleport. Or fly. Or just—super-speed. _Anything_. He wanted Stiles back in his arms this very fucking _second_! 

“Stiles,” Peter said, voice soft. “We’re gonna get you home.” He squeezed Derek’s shoulder, no longer digging his claws into it, looking up at his nephew as he said it. It was as much a promise to Derek as it was to Stiles. “You believe me, right? We’re getting you home.”

Stiles said nothing in response to that. Peter frowned and Derek stared down at his phone. It was still connected, but he hadn’t said anything. Actually, it sounded like he’d stopped breathing. Where had he—

_“I gotta go.”_

The fear in those three little words had Derek’s entire body stiffen immediately. Peter’s expression turned serious. 

“Stiles? What is it?” 

_“I gotta go,”_ he repeated, voice so quiet and terrified that it made Derek want to vomit. 

No. 

No, no, _no_! Not now! They’d—there was a _plan_! They had a fucking plan! 

_Stiles was out and they had a fucking plan!_

No, God couldn’t do this to him. No. _No. **No!**_

_“I’ll be at the Walmart.”_ Stiles’ voice trembled as he spoke. God, no! Please no! Derek couldn’t, he couldn’t lose him again, _no_! _“Make sure the Order member comes as fast as they can. I’ll be there.”_

“Stiles!” Peter said, but received no response. Derek’s screen flashed, showing the call had ended. 

Stiles had hung up. 

The world tilted at an impossible angle and Derek felt like he was going to be sick. He stumbled, Peter grabbing at him. Jackson let out a shout, moving quickly to help, keeping him standing. 

“Derek. Derek!” Peter grabbed his face in both hands, giving him a hard shake. 

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were closing up and he couldn’t breathe. 

Stiles had gotten out! He’d gotten _out_! How could this happen?! He’d—he was _free_! They couldn’t have found him! Not again! They couldn’t take him back! _They couldn’t take him back!_

“Derek!” Peter slapped him, hard, then grabbed his face again and shook him roughly. “Derek, listen to me. He is smart, and resourceful, and _powerful_. He got out. He made it out, Derek. He told us to get the Order member to Walmart, and that’s what we’re going to do.” He tightened his grip on his face, forcing him to look at him. Peter nodded resolutely, expression set. “He got out, and we’re going to get him home. Stiles is _coming home_ , Derek.” 

He reached up with his free hand, gripping hard at Peter’s wrist, other clenched tightly around his phone. 

Peter nodded once, then glanced over Derek’s shoulder. “Stay with him.” 

“Yeah,” Jackson said.

Peter gave him one final shake, then turned to head inside, telling Cora to give him back the phone. 

Derek felt like all his bones had been replaced with rubber. He shifted to lean against the guardrail, and Jackson moved with him, sticking close, one hand tight around Derek’s forearm. When they were both leaning against the porch railing, Jackson examined every inch of his face. 

He was good at reading him, but not as good as Stiles. 

Never as good as Stiles. 

Still, he could read him well enough. 

“He’s Stiles,” Jackson said softly. Much softer than his usual condescending tone. “He’s gonna be okay, Derek. He’d gonna make it.” 

Derek just twisted to brace himself against the railing, breathing hard and staring down at the wood, digging blunt human nails into the paint. 

He could hear Peter inside the house, speaking to Deaton first, then the Order member from Tennessee. Her name was Tara. She was a Witch. And also a police officer. 

Derek winced. That wasn’t good, Stiles didn’t trust police officers. Not since he’d gotten kidnapped by Deucalion because his men had _posed_ as police officers. And he’d just _escaped_ from a Witch, so it was a double dose of nope. 

Still, he hoped Stiles trusted her. She was there to help. 

Peter was giving her a lot of information. A _lot_ of information. About anything and everything. It made sense. The more she knew, the less likely Stiles would be to bolt on her. He probably wasn’t going to trust anyone so even this was a stretch. 

And even better, she didn’t have a Bruins hat. She had a neon pink sweater though, so it would have to do. She promised she’d try and buy a hat at Walmart if they sold them. With how their luck was going, probably not. 

It was agonizing, waiting for her to get there. Derek and Jackson stayed outside. The rest of the pack started to trickle in as time passed. Satomi was the third person to show up, and she moved to stand beside Derek silently, offering support without saying a word. 

Peter was still inside speaking to Tara. 

Derek tensed when he heard Peter say something that confirmed she’d arrived at the Walmart. He’d shifted so his elbows were resting on the railing, hands folded together while he stared out at the trees. He clenched them tightly together when he heard Peter’s next words. 

“Are you sure?” 

Fuck, no. 

Derek’s jaw worked, grinding his teeth together painfully enough that his face muscles hurt. He bowed his head, and struggled to control his breathing. 

No need to panic yet. Not yet. She’d just arrived, it was fine. So what if she’d done a sweep because she was a Witch and could do that? So what if she’d walked around the store ten times and hadn’t found him? So what if there was _no sign whatsoever_ of Stiles being there? 

It was fine. He was _fine_. He was going to make it, he _would_! 

He felt a gentle hand fall on his shoulder and he clenched his eyes shut, keeping his head bowed and struggling to control himself. Fuck, not again. He couldn’t lose him again. 

Please, _please_! 

_Please, I’ll do anything._

“Have faith,” Satomi said softly. “Stiles is the strongest person I know. He will be there. Have faith.” 

Derek had faith. He had so much faith. He put everything he had into having faith.

Stiles would be there. He would. He’d be there! He’d said he would be there, so he _would_ be there! 

Peter hung up with Tara. Her phone was beginning to die. He came out to stand on the porch with the rest of the pack. 

They waited. 

Time passed. Every second was like a pounding hammer against the nail of a coffin. Waiting. Waiting. 

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. 

They waited. 

Derek was trying so hard to have faith. _So hard_. But it was too late. Too much time had passed. It was over. 

They’d found Stiles. They’d—he was gone. Again. They had him again and Derek—

He tensed when a phone trilled loudly, jerking upright and whipping around, heart lodged in his throat. Satomi’s hand had tightened on his shoulder and Jackson pressed into his side so hard he almost knocked him off his feet. 

Deaton had his phone in his hand, expression neutral. And then, he smiled. 

He _smiled_.

And looked up. 

“She has him. She’s on her way.” 

And Derek broke. 

* * *

Derek couldn’t sleep. 

He was afraid to sleep. 

What if something happened while he was asleep? 

He kept worrying this was all a dream. That he’d fallen asleep, curled on his side in bed, Stiles’ shirt pressed to his nose, and dreamt this entire thing. 

His phone had never rung. Stiles had never escaped. Tara had never found him. Stiles wasn’t on his way home. 

He was so scared it wasn’t real. 

So he didn’t sleep. He snarled at anyone who tried to make him, sitting on the couch with his folded hands pressed against his lips, counting down the seconds in his head. 

Peter made him put on real clothes and eat some food. Satomi constantly brought him water. He went to the bathroom when he needed to.

Otherwise, he stayed put. He didn’t move. He just counted the seconds. 

He waited. 

It wasn’t real yet. Stiles wasn’t back yet. 

Tara’s phone had died. Deaton had confirmed her text, and when he’d replied back, the message hadn’t shown as received. It had been sent, but not received, or acknowledged. 

They just had to trust that Tara was a true Order member, that she’d honestly be bringing Stiles back, and that they hadn’t been caught along the way. 

He had to _sit there_ , knowing _nothing_. Just _waiting_. 

He inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled. Boyd was sitting on his right, having a quiet conversation with Melissa. Cora was pressed up against his other side, snoozing against his shoulder while Lydia rubbed soothingly at her arm to keep her calm. 

Peter was standing in the corridor, speaking with Parrish. Derek didn’t know what they were talking about. 

Didn’t care, either. Couldn’t be bothered to listen in. 

Satomi was across from him on the other couch, reading. She was the only person present from the Ito pack, and had only come because she thought it prudent she be close in case unfavourable parties crossed into the territory. 

So far so good. No sign of the Argents. 

No sign of Stiles and Tara, either. 

Derek didn’t know how long it had been. He’d been counting the seconds, but somehow hadn’t kept track of how many minutes, or hours, or _days_ it had been. He just counted the seconds out to sixty, and then started over. 

Cora let out a soft grunt beside him, nuzzling further into his shoulder, and drooling slightly. 

Derek ignored her. At least one of them was sleeping. He was too scared to. He didn’t want to sleep until it was while he was wrapped around Stiles. 

As soon as he had Stiles back, he’d sleep for a week. He just needed—he had to hold him. To _touch_ him. Just once. 

Just to know he was real. 

Satomi turned the page in her book, head tilting slightly to read from the new page when she paused. She lifted her head, shifting to look out towards the back end of town. 

Derek jerked straight, displacing Cora, who let out a startled snort and flailed one arm to stop from falling over. 

His heart was pounding in his chest as Satomi’s eyes stared at something he couldn’t see, feeling it trying to force its way up into his throat. 

Finally, _finally_ , she turned to him, and offered a small smile, closing her book. 

“I suppose it would be kind to welcome him home.” 

Derek was already striding to the door before she’d finished speaking, Cora having let out a small shout when she fell right over into the spot he’d vacated. He wrenched open the door, hands shaking, and almost took it clear off. 

Moving out onto the porch, his eyes scanned the forest urgently, hands twitching. He wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t _there_! 

“He’s coming,” Peter said, moving up beside him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s coming, patience.” 

Derek turned, snarling at him, then shrugged his hand off his shoulder and began to pace, eyes on the forest and the path leading up to the house. 

Patience? _Patience?!_ After five fucking months?! 

No, he had _no_ patience! He needed Stiles back right fucking _now_! He needed to know he was okay, needed to physically see him with his own eyes, touch him, prove to himself he was real, and back, and _safe_. 

The pack had joined them on the porch, but everyone was smart enough to keep away from their Alpha while he paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Eyes on the forest. 

Why was it taking so long? It shouldn’t be taking this long! Why wasn’t he _there_ yet?! 

He tilted his head on his next turn, hearing movement in the trees. A few seconds later, he could see headlights in the distance. 

It was him, right? It had to be him. It _had_ to be him! 

Derek stopped at the top of the porch steps, heart racing, eyes locked on the car. 

It couldn’t be anyone else, right? Please _God_ , it _had_ to be him! 

The car accelerated the instant the house came into view and Derek felt his heart surge and leapt off the porch, racing for the car as fast as he could. 

_Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles._

The driver’s side door was kicked open, a body half-falling out of the vehicle, grabbing at the edge of the door to wrench around it. 

Stiles! It was Stiles! He was here, he was here, he was _here_! 

Derek slammed into him, knowing he’d probably hurt him, but the impact against his chest suggested Stiles had _also_ slammed into _him_. 

He didn’t care. 

He didn’t care about anything except this. Him. Stiles. 

His hands instantly grabbed for him, gripping him tightly, hand in his hair, nose at his temple and breathing in his scent. Making sure this was real. 

Stiles’ hands were scrabbling against his back, tugging at his shirt, face buried in his shoulder and breathing hard. 

Derek was shaking. This was real. It was real, he was back. Stiles came back, he escaped, he got out, he was _here_! 

He could hardly breathe. His eyes were clenched shut and he held Stiles as hard as he could, needing to make sure no one ever got between them again. Needing to make sure that he never _lost_ him again. 

His throat itched and his eyes burned, and he just wanted to sob against him, because he was back, and he loved him so fucking much. 

He loved him. God, he loved him. And he was here. 

He was _here_! 

Derek rubbed his beard against Stiles’ skin, needing his scent on him. Needing Stiles’ on him as well. He smelled like pain, and fear, and guilt, but also relief. 

So much relief, and joy, and love. God, Stiles was back, he was here, Derek loved him so much, he wanted—

He wanted to kiss him. 

He so badly wanted to kiss him. He loved him so fucking much, and he’d _lost_ him, but he was _back_ and he just... 

Pulling back, Derek grabbed at Stiles’ face, staring at him and drinking in every inch of his gorgeous, perfect face. Stiles’ hands came up to grip at Derek’s wrists, glowing so brightly it was almost painful to have so close to his face. Stiles was staring right back at him with those amber eyes, and that perfect mouth, and—

He loved him so much. He wanted to kiss him so badly. 

But not now. It couldn’t be now. He had him back. He was _back_. That was all that mattered. The rest could wait. 

So Derek just closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against Stiles’. 

_You’re back. Thank you for coming back. I love you. I missed you. Don’t ever do that to me again. You can’t ever, **ever** do that to me again._

Stiles’ hands squeezed at his wrists, like he heard him. Like he _knew_. 

Because he always did, didn’t he? Stiles always heard him. 

Derek shifted so he could hug him again, lips brushing against Stiles’ temple. He loved him so much. He never wanted to be apart from him again. 

Never again. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked shakily, his voice muffled against Derek’s shirt. “I didn’t know—when we left, you were...” 

Pulling back, Derek grabbed at his face again, giving him a firm shake, staring at him intently. 

_You’re back. Stiles, you came back. I can survive anything, because you’re back._

“I’m sorry.” Stiles’ voice broke slightly, and Derek hated seeing the moisture in his eyes, but he was so beautiful, and he was _back_ , and he loved him so fucking much. 

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s forearms, nails biting into his skin, and it was the best feeling in the world. Because it meant he was _here_ , and his hands were so fucking blinding, and he smelled like so much fucking _relief_ , and happiness, and love, and safety, and Derek had missed him so fucking much! 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles repeated, gripping him even tighter, nails digging in harder. “I just couldn’t—I can’t lose you. Not you.” 

Derek hated hearing that, because that was how _he_ felt. And he _had_ lost Stiles! For five months! 

_Five months!_

It had almost destroyed him. He couldn’t lose Stiles again, not ever. 

Stiles could _never_ do anything like this to him _ever_ again. 

The nails digging into his right arm went a little deeper, and when he glanced down at the blinding lights, his stomach dropped and his expression hardened instantly at what he saw. 

Stiles was wearing a ridiculously oversized coat, and what looked like some kind of hoodie underneath. But when he’d rushed over and grabbed at Derek, the sleeves had pulled back slightly. 

Derek could see it. 

His wrist. 

The bruising, and the wounds, and the almost clear indent of metal cinched tightly against his skin. 

Stiles had put those cuffs on in the street when Gerard Argent had threatened his life. 

God only knew if they’d ever come off. 

Looking at the state of his wrist, Derek felt inclined to believe those cuffs didn’t leave very often. 

“Stiles.” 

It took a conscious effort for Derek not to roar in Peter’s face and throw Stiles behind himself, but it was a near thing. The only reason he managed to refrain was because Stiles was still holding onto him for dear life. All he’d done was turn his head to look at Peter. 

He looked so fucking relieved to see Peter. Like the more people he saw, the more real this would be. It looked like he was going to start crying, _really_ crying.

Honestly, Derek wouldn’t blame him. He wanted to start crying, too. Because Stiles was _back_. 

And Peter looked so, _so_ pissed at the state of him. Derek would be more pissed if he weren’t drowning in his own relief, and Stiles’. He never wanted to let him go, he was going to stick to him like fucking glue. 

He was afraid if he stopped touching him that Stiles would disappear. 

“Come on inside,” Peter said softly, smiling ever so slightly. Derek could tell he was just barely holding back how angry he was at the state Stiles was in, but he managed, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s warmer. We made some food for you.” 

Stiles sniffed once, and Derek felt like an idiot for forgetting Stiles was human. He was outside in the cold right now, and he was wearing fucking sweatpants. 

Tucking Stiles into his side, and feeling so fucking happy at how perfectly he fit, how much he still completed him even after five months apart, Derek turned them so they could head for the house. 

Stiles held him tightly, and Derek tightened the arm wrapped around his shoulders, turning to press his lips against the crown of Stiles’ head. 

_I’ve got you,_ he promised. _I’ve got you, Stiles. Forever. I’m never letting anyone else touch you ever again._

_I’ve got you._

Stiles tightened his hold around Derek’s middle while they climbed the porch steps, and Derek knew he understood. 

Derek knew he’d heard him. 

Because after all, Stiles always did.

Didn’t he? 

  
Artwork by [Fae~](https://faevorite-main-blog.tumblr.com/)

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


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